Mind Whispers

"Have you ever felt those whispers," she asked, her eyes tracing the patterns of shadows. "You mean the kind that echo when no one's around?" I replied, half-smiling, half-peering into the void. She nodded, her gaze unfurling in the dark where thoughts fell like autumn leaves.

There's a theory that every whisper is a wish, trapped between our realities and the brink. I pondered this as the clock ticked, louder somehow, with each passing second. Did we wish for these whispers? Or are they remnants of what could have been?

Silent screams often reside in corners unknown, laced with secrets and stitched with time. We sit here, unraveling them, piece by piece, stitch by stitch, until the fabric of silence wears thin.